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“Okay,” I say, not sure how to respond.
He grunts and then turns, leaving the room, the door shutting with a resounding bang behind him. I quickly open it and jump when I see there’s a new man standing beside it. He raises one eyebrow at me, but I shut the door again.
“Where the fuck did he come from?” I ask myself.
I look around the room again, really seeing it since I’m all alone now. The large king-size bed sits on the back wall, a light-gray comforter on top of it, looking like I might sink to heaven if I were to jump on it. My sleepless night, spent worrying, is starting to catch up with me.
Three clothing piles lie at the bottom, and I cross the dark wood floor until my feet meet a fluffy rug, my toes curling in appreciation. I haven’t seen my heels since Grumpy took them off of me last night.
The first pile is a dress, folded. I pick it up, looking at it in the daylight streaming through the window. It’s black, simple, with an A-line flare to it. I hold it up to my body, nodding when it seems to stretch far enough around to fit.
The next pile is some sweatpants and a T-shirt, a pair of underwear hidden underneath. Regular cotton underwear, purple with tiny pink hearts on the elastic band. They are cute and look like something I haven’t worn since middle school. They aren’t new, obviously, but I’m thankful at this point to have a change of clothes—and to still be alive.
The last pile is a sleep set, silky and cool to the touch, and I want to put them on and slip under the covers. But I desperately need a shower first. I check the clock sitting on the bedside table and see it’s ten in the morning, but I don’t know that I can hold my eyes open for much longer.
I start to panic when I think about closing them, wondering if nightmarish thoughts will keep me up again.
What if they lured me up here to give me a false sense of security, and then they kill me in my sleep?
I want to wear the sleep set, but it’s not practical for an escape, which is what I’m doing as soon as I get a shower. I grab the sweatpants, T-shirt, and purple underwear and walk through the door of the bathroom. I stop short, my mouth gaping as I stare. There’s a long vanity that spans two walls; the end of it is lower and has a lit-up mirror for applying makeup. A plush chair sits in front of it.
A claw-foot tub sits in the middle of the bathroom, and a large stand-up shower is kitty-corner to it. I open the see-through glass door to the shower, staring at the assortment of sprayers. There are some in the ceiling—a round one right in the middle—and lines of them on the wall. It looks like some futuristic version of a shower, and I’m not even sure how to start it.
I strip my torn dress from my body, letting it pool around my feet. My skin pebbles in the cool bathroom air. I look down, realizing the tiles aren’t cool underneath my feet.
Heated floor.
These people pay for unnecessary shit, but damn if I don’t appreciate it right now. I step in the shower and close the door behind me. Then, I look at the three levers I can pick from.
I turn one, and immediately, I’m blasted by cold water from three sides. I scream bloody murder. I hastily turn it off as soon as the door to the bathroom flies open, and the guard from outside my door is standing there, staring at me, buck-ass naked in the shower.
“Get the fuck out!” I scream at him, and he turns abruptly, pulling the door shut behind him.
I stand there, shivering, as the first bark of manic laughter bursts from my throat. The look on his face was enough to tip me over the edge. My sleep-deprived brain told me it was a good idea to yell at someone who was keeping me locked in a room. I can’t believe he left, honestly. Not without first killing me on the spot for raising my voice like that.
I’m sure he expected that I was being attacked or attacking someone, but instead, he got a full-frontal view of my lady bits, and I can’t seem to tamp down the erratic laughter coming from me.
I think I might have officially lost it. I look at myself in the mirror, through the clear glass of the shower door, and I spot the dried blood on my upper lip and chin.
My chortles soon turn to sobs as my back hits the wall of the shower, and I slide down it until I’m curled in on myself, my legs tucked underneath my arms. I let loose a stream of tears and snot that have been building for the last twelve hours.
What have I done? What have I gotten myself into?
I fucking killed someone last night.
I’m being held in the Soltorre mansion, and I don’t know if I’ll ever step foot outside again. There’s no part of me that’s okay right now.
I don’t know how long I sit at the bottom of the shower, but eventually, my tears dry up, and I’m left with a swollen, puffy face and a tension headache. I bathe myself as quickly as I can once I figure out how to turn the shower on; it’s like a waterfall, soothing my head as the warm water falls on me.
I step out, grabbing the plush towel on the hanging rack, and wrap it around myself.
Heated towel warmer.
This is a far cry from my threadbare towel and the drafty shower in my apartment. But I won’t be sticking around to get used to it. I’m leaving as soon as I can find a way out. I dress quickly, sliding on the sweatpants and then shirt, and then I wander around the room, peeking out of the curtains. No bars to prevent me from getting out. Maybe they thought I wouldn’t try it on the second floor.
I put my fingers underneath the windowsill and pull up. It doesn’t budge. I move to the next one and try it but same thing. None of the windows move.
Did they glue them shut?
